Why I Love Costco Part 4: Big wieners

As you already know from parts 1, 2 and 3, for me there's no shortage of things to love at Costco. But so far everything has been inside the store. This time, the object of my affection is waiting right outside the front doors.

Big wieners.

Like everything else at Costco, when it comes to their hot dogs size matters. These huge frankfurters are not only filling, they're also delicious and in demand. People are lined up like it's the DMV to get their hands on these wieners.

After all, again like everything else at Costco, the price is right.

For a mere $1.50, you get one of these giant wieners, all the toppings you want and a large soft drink. If I were a homeless person - and of course, being a freelancer I'm always teetering on the edge of that - I'd hone my panhandling skills so I could score at least a $1.50 a day to eat at Costco.

I'd be the fattest homeless person at the offramp. But I'd be the happiest.

Next time you're at a Costco, after you're done shopping and have worked up an appetite pushing that mammoth shopping cart overflowing with gallon jars of mayonnaise, a two-year supply of toilet paper and 42-inch flatscreen TV, set yourself down and enjoy a cheap, delicious, filling meal.

Believe me, nothing's more satisfying than a big wiener. Especially at Costco.

I didn't do that ad. Why do you ask?

Campaign ideas don’t want to be bad, but like Jessica Rabbit said, sometimes they're just drawn that way.

The fact is an idea can often look good on paper, then get lost somewhere along the way to executing it.

And I'm just man enough to say that sometimes bad work happens to good writers: the lousiness of some of my spots has been my creation and mine alone.

For example, the am/pm mini mart spot where I made a joke about the son in the family being adopted. Immediately after it aired, they started routing all the complaint calls from adoption advocacy groups to me so they could tell me, in very raised voices, why adoption jokes weren't funny. I listened patiently, then told them I was adopted and I thought it was hilarious.

I’m not, but sometimes you just want the noise to stop.

Then there was the absolutely awful campaign my partner Doug and I presented for Suzuki cars using the cast of LOST. There were several spots, but the highlight (lowlight?) was one where instead of a blue VW van, we had them discover a Grand Vitara on the island. We liked the show and we wanted to go to Hawaii, so sue us.

It's a good thing it never went anywhere. It wouldn't have been nearly as good as this one:

I don’t remember this, but my wife swears years ago I wrote a radio spot where the characters were building a house out of meat (SFX: Hands slapping ground beef). This was pre-Lady Gaga. Obviously I was way ahead of my time, which is so rare (see what I did there?).

This isn't the first time I've written about good and bad ads. I posted a piece here about it.

But I'm beginning to think putting up posts running down the list of bad ads I've done is probably not the most career-enhancing move I can make. So forget you've seen this.

Just like you did with all those bad ads.

Hurts donut

This is why the terrorists are going to win. We're going to do it for them.

A chef named Charlie Boghosian at a place called Chicken Charlie's (it gets more appetizing by the second) wondered what would happen if he crossed a Krispy Kreme donut with a Sloppy Joe sandwich. You're looking at his answer.

Coming as absolutely no surprise, Charlie is a vendor of fried foods at the San Diego County Fair. And this little beauty sits right next to his other deep-fried culinary creations: Twinkies, bacon-wrapped pickles and fried Kool-Aid (you heard me).

Spokespeople for the Krispy Kreme corporation have been frantically denying they have anything to do with this abomination of a sandwich. As heart-stopping good as it may be, apparently they don't want to sully their reputation for healthier fare.

I have to admit I'm curious. Not for an entire one, but I have to say I wouldn't mind taking a bite. You know, for the same reason I saw Sinatra before he died.

Just so I could say I did.

Anyway, I don't know if I trust Charlie entirely. Sure he fries everything he comes near in the kitchen, but he does it with a fervor that might be bordering on crazy.

In fact, the last person to buy one insisted he had a glazed look in his eyes.

It's showtime. Almost.

This is going to seem hard to believe, but unlike fairy tales and stories about unicorns, leprechauns, insightful account planners and consumer engagement, this one is absolutely true.

Once upon a time, people used to go to movie theaters and, not including movie trailers, there were no commercials or advertising before the movie. None. Zilch.

Then, someone at the L.A. Times had an idea about how the paper could get into the movie business. They decided they’d give a discount on media placement for theater listings to the theater chains if they’d run an L.A. Times commercial before the movies started.

It was a great deal for the Times. Captive audience, big screen and a theater extortion plan they knew the chains would go for.

When these commercials started appearing years ago, it didn’t matter if you were seeing a movie at the Village in Westwood or the Gardena Cinema. They were unanimously and loudly booed. People threw popcorn at the screen. The audience could get commercials at home on their televisions. It wasn’t what they were coming to the movies for. They hated it and they weren't going to sit for it.

Except that they have.

Fast forward to today. Since no one looks in the newspaper for show times anymore, the L.A. Times commercials are a quaint memory (and the paper might soon be as well). But what’s taken its place are theater owners who’ve co-opted the idea to generate revenue for themselves.

You know those pre-show, pre-packaged group of ads, shorts, trailers and interviews you see before movies? The ones that are usually bundled as First Look or The Twenty (short for the 20 minutes prior to showtime)? Yes it's paid advertising. But it's the theaters themselves who are bringing it to you.

The three major chains - Regal, AMC and Cinemark - have together formed National CineMedia(NCM) to show preshow ads in their theaters. Here's an idea how much they're making off it:

And you thought all their profit was coming from $4.75 cups of Coke.

It's actually amazing they manage to have the ad sales they do. Here's the pitch from their website:

If by fully engaged audience they mean a theater full of people talking, checking their phones, texting, playing games, looking for seats, at the concession stand buying $5.75 buckets of popcorn, then yes, they're fully engaged.

Fully engaged isn't the only promise they make that they aren't keeping.

Did you see it? It's the part at the end about loving the brand? I'm pretty sure being shown commercials in a theater has just the opposite effect. It's one thing when you see a bad commercial on television. But when you see one (or the same one) on a 60-ft. screen in 70mm with Dolby sound, the badness just scales up. So does the resentment. Even if it's a good spot, it's holding you captive before your movie.

There are two problems here. First, as always, is the money. Like the fees the airlines charge for what once was free, the theaters are making way too much from these commercials to get rid of them. And second is a passive audience who has just come to accept the first fact.

I usually like a theater as quiet as possible.

But I do miss the booing I used to hear the minute the commercial started playing.

Drive she said

I wouldn’t go so far as calling myself a Disneyphile (although it would be one of the nicer things I’ve been called). But I did grow up in L.A., and probably spent an equal amout of time between school and Disneyland (well, maybe a little more at DLand).

I’m a California boy, and I do love Disneyland.

As a card-carrying Deluxe annual pass holder, I’ve done the math to figure out I have to go there at least 6 times during the year to make it pay for itself. No problem: between DLand, its sister park California Adventure, and summer it'll be a cinch.

The beauty of it is I can go anytime I want (except for a few blocked days) and pretty much forget the outside world and have a good time. Until I have to pay real-world money for food in the park (seriously, would it kill them to include a few meals in the annual pass fee).

But I recover quickly.

Anyway, last Saturday night it was time for my daughter and me to renew our annual passes. Instead of doing it online, which wouldn’t have given us any excuse to go into the park, we made the 15-minute drive to Anaheim and did it in person at a Disneyland ticket booth.

Disney cast member Linda from Laguna Niguel - who may or may not have been an audio-animatronic robot - efficiently and pleasantly helped us.

Afterwards, we thought we’d take the new annual passes for a spin. So we went into Calfiornia Adventure, got the passes scanned, and visited the newest land: Cars Land.

When Disney decides to wow you, no one does it better. Radiator Springs is the spittin' image of the fictional cars town in the movie come to life. It is incredible. Visually rich and detailed, stunning in its vibrancy, it actually is the only Disney "land" that feels like you're in another world entirely.

We waited an hour to get on the Radiator Springs Racers, the roller coaster ride that simulates the race in the movie. It leisurely takes you through the town of Radiator Springs, then suddenly you're at a starting line with another car full of people.

You get the green light, and you're off. It's not nearly a long enough or fast enough race, but it is fun. It has just enough of what I call "Disney Danger" on the curves to make you want to immediately go on it again. If the line wasn't a two hour wait when we got off we would have.

We went on a couple more rides, and then headed home. No need to do it all in one night.

We have all year.

Don't ask: Moving

You have to look closely to see it. This is a picture of me helping you move.

I know what you’re thinking: it looks like a couple on a tropical beach, enjoying a few beers and some special time together, far removed from all their cares. And yours.

Yes. What I said. Me helping you move.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at a certain age - maybe around 40 - I made the decision there were just certain things I wasn’t going to do anymore. Like help you move. In fact I decided I don’t have any friend I like well enough to help move.

So don't take it personally.

Sure, there was a time when renting a van or borrowing a friends pickup, dragging your stuff down the flight of stairs from your old place up the flight of stairs to your new place, and being rewarded with cheap pizza and beer at the end of it all sounded like a good time.

But that time has come and gone. Now it just sounds like lousy pizza, warm beer and a bad back.

I'll be happy for you and your new place, and I'd absolutely love to come over and see what you've done with it once you're moved in. Which actually should be pretty easy since there are over 25,000 moving companies in the United States.

It's just that now, I'm not one of them.

This is what advertising is like

So many metaphors, so little time.

Not too long ago, 20 people boarded the Windseeker ride at California's other amusement park, Knott's Berry Farm. It takes riders up 300 feet, spins them around, takes their breath away and then lowers them safely back to the ground. All in about three minutes start to finish.

I have a big appreciation for things that take 3 minutes start to finish.

Anyway, that particular day was a little different than every other day because the riders got stuck at the top for over three hours until ride mechanics rescued them.

This is exactly what advertising is like.

At first you're whisked away to dizzying heights, and what with big production budgets, location shoots, vendor lunches, comp subscriptions and days at a time out of the office, the view is spectacular. In fact, you can't see another job you'd want for miles and miles.

You start to think it'll be like that every time, but then one day you get stuck. Fighting for the work. Fighting for the budgets to execute the work you've been fighting for. Fighting the client to get them down to one thought instead of ten in a :30 second spot.

The bad news is no one's coming to rescue you. You have to do that yourself.

It often involves getting off one ride and hopping on another. And another. And another.

It's an odd way to manage a career (pause for laughs for using the word "career"), yet it's just standard operating procedure.

Besides, when it comes to amusement, you can't beat it.